


Baby's First Trial

by FreckledSkittles



Series: Barisi Is Married and Happy Because I Said So [5]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: ADA Carisi, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Case Fic, Fluff and Angst, Lawyer Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., M/M, Married Barisi, Married Life, Professor Rafael Barba, SVU Season 21 Spoilers, Spoilers, in this house we love supportive husbands, just in case friends, koala bearba is here everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22308829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/FreckledSkittles
Summary: There are cases that make it near impossible to keep their private and professional lives separate. Rafael had seen them plenty of times as an ADA; Sonny’s had them in the six years he’s been a detective. But it’s different now that Sonny is a prosecutor.Rafael knew the second he started this case that he would have a struggle.Or: Sonny is stressed from a case and Rafael comforts his husband because the showrunners are too cowardly to put in a canonically queer character that's not the victim of a crime.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Series: Barisi Is Married and Happy Because I Said So [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1405030
Comments: 16
Kudos: 77





	Baby's First Trial

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this a big diss to the current state of SVU's writers and production team that defends 21 seasons without an openly queer character who is part of the main cast and is represented accurately and healthily despite the community wanting it and the willingness from actors like Raul Esparza and Peter Scanavino. Especially when it's A) not that hard, and B) already subconsciously written into their characters
> 
> Anyway I wrote a Barisi angst and fluff fic for the latest episode where ADA Carisi takes his first case to trial because he deserves nothing but good things and he is happily married with his husband Rafael Barba (they have two dogs and a cat talk to me about domestic married Barisi please and thanks)

Rafael wakes up to find Sonny already awake, stretched out on their bed, his eyes clenched shut and his jaw tight. The stress has been radiating off of him in waves since the case arrived at his desk and promised an unavoidable trial. As much as they’ve practiced keeping their work and private lives separate, there are cases that make that near impossible to accomplish. Rafael had seen them plenty of times as an ADA; Sonny’s had them in the six years he’s been a detective. But it’s different now that Sonny is a prosecutor. Rafael knew the second he started that it would be.

Rafael sits up so that he and Sonny are side by side, their thighs pressed together and their breaths even. He doesn’t need to say anything. Rafael can read the exhaustion as easily as he can read the essays from freshmen in his intro to criminal law class. And for once, Rafael knows his words are not what Sonny needs right away.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, the blanket still draped over Rafael’s lap, Sonny tips his head slowly and rests it against Rafael’s shoulder. His eyes stay on his ring finger, which rests tenderly between them, following the band of gold wrapped around it. “When you had your first case go to trial, did you feel this anxious?” He whispers. His other hand raises to scratch lightly at his bare neck, as if the contact will open his throat. “Like everyone is watching and waiting for you to fail? Like every time you pass someone, they’re wondering when you’re gonna stop playing pretend and just put the badge back on?”

“Not at that capacity,” Rafael mumbles softly, his hand taking a tight hold of Sonny’s hand. “But it was always there.” No matter how hard he worked or how hard he proved himself over and over again, there was always someone who wished he would go back from where he came, whether that be the Bronx or, from the more racist, Cuba.

Sonny hums and turns his head so that his nose is burrowed into his shoulder. “Every time I walk into the squad room, I feel like I’m gonna get jumped.”

Rafael lets a small smirk quirk on his lips. “Your former home turf? It must be really bad, huh?”

Sonny nods.

“Have you talked to Terry about it?”

“Yeah.” Sonny lets out a long breath. “She says it’s natural, that it’s just the anxiety taking over. It happens with new jobs. I just,” he pauses, fiddles with his sleeve, and takes a deep breath, “I need to find better coping methods.”

“That don’t include other people, I’m sure.”

The reference is just vague enough that Sonny smiles, as faint as it is. “Yeah, yeah, as much as she loves us, she said it wasn’t healthy to have you as a coping method.”

“Rats.” Rafael presses a soft kiss to his shoulder. “Do you wanna tell me what they are?”

“Deep breaths, count my steps, drink some water.” Sonny sits up so that he can properly look at Rafael. They’ve been together for four years, including the one year of marriage, and yet it can not possibly get old. The look of adoration, of thanks, of pure and untethered support that flows between them, welded in place by their wedding bands, recited with words and repeated with their gazes, for anyone who takes one glance at them to know loud and clear that they are in deep love with each other. “I only think of you when I finish counting. I hope you don’t mind.”

Rafael shakes his head. “Not at all. You need to take care of yourself. It’d be irrational for me to take care of your mental health when I have no control over it.”

Sonny smiles, and Rafael finds himself melting into it. This time, it looks a bit more natural, a bit more welcomed by the man who has wanted nothing more than to consume the infamously grumpy Rafael Barba in undying, unadulterated love. Just enough for Rafael to mirror the expression and rest with him for a few more minutes in silence.

Eventually, Rafael gets them out of bed. He helps Sonny pick out a suit and tie for court, commenting on the best combinations. While he gets ready, cleaning his face and dressing for a day full of classes, Sonny makes them coffee and, per their morning rules, gets the first shot at the crossword. And even if they hadn’t made the rule, Rafael would have given it to him anyway. Anything to help his husband keep his mind prepared for what was about to be a long day.

* * *

_ *image* To make you smile, cariño. _

_❤️ It always does. Get to class, Professor._

_ Get to court, Counselor. _

_ Only if you join me. _

_ Alas. I have a rugged team of sophomores waiting for me at nine. Otherwise, I would be sitting in the first row. _

_ You still can. I’ll save you a seat, just like old times. _

_ Stop that, you, I won’t stand for this type of collusion of my emotions. That’s a cheap trick. _

_ You opened the door. _

_ Touche, Counselor. At least you’re getting some legal practice before court starts. _

_ Trust me, it’s an every-day occurrence with you. _

_ Objection, speculation. _

_ Overruled. I’m still testifying about my personal experiences. _

_ Good. Then you’ll do fine today. Good luck, my love. Booyah, Fordham Law. _

_Thanks, Raf. Love you. ❤️_

* * *

Sonny stands to make his opening statement. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rafael sitting in the back row, coat folded over his lap. The collar of his polo is pressed neatly against the deep green sweater he had chosen. He looks every bit a college professor, but Sonny knows the lavish suits and pocket squares and matching ties and socks will always make an appearance for formal events or for mock trials in class. Even now, when there’s a new semester to teach, he failed to mention he would be sitting in the second row, right in his line of sight if he turned his head to the right. The same spot Sonny used to sit before and after they were out. He always loved to put on a show.

But as a professor at Columbia, Rafael has changed much of his style to reflect the poise and experience he has on his shoulders, as well as the expertise as an Ivy League graduate with a high success rate in Manhattan courtrooms. His students are there to learn from him, not to lose to him. And he wants to help them, not ruin any chances of climbing up a firm’s ladders. But if any of them become defense attorneys for criminal rapists, he may have to dust off a suit or two and make a point.

Sonny smiles the second he sees him. It’s small, barely noticeable, a twitch to the jury, but Rafael has it memorized. He has the expression imprinted in his memory as a reminder that sometimes, they have to communicate in silent gestures and vague responses. It says the same thing a giant beam or crinkle of his eyes would, even if it doesn’t meet the same height. Rafael returns it, accompanied with all the hope in the world that Sonny will succeed and show them what a Fordham Law degree can do, that he was made for this, that his accent and his blue background do not hinder him from brilliance.

Sonny starts his opening statement, and Rafael hangs onto every word.

* * *

“ _ Rafa. _ ”

He never thought it was possible, but at this moment, Rafael hates the sound of his voice. He had gotten the texts about court, from both Rafael and SVU, on how terribly it had gone. Rafael doubted it was as bad as any of them were saying—he had better faith in Sonny, even if the ring on his finger made him a bit biased—but that tone was something he hated. It confirmed that their words of ADA Carisi’s grilling in court was not an exaggeration, and he should take it seriously in order to help his husband.

Rafael hates that he couldn’t stay for the entire day, but Sonny had assured him just seeing him in their gallery spot was encouragement all by itself. It couldn’t have been enough—not in the sense that Rafael would be the only one to provide relief, but because the weight of working a case like this is always rough, especially for Sonny. “I’m heading over now to get him home,” Rafael says, walking a little faster down the hall to the lobby of the building that hosted his office. “What’s the update?”

“ _ I won’t spoil anything _ ,” Olivia states, firm and caring with maternal guidance, “ _ but the sooner you can get there, the better. _ ”

Rafael crafts about five different legal arguments for each traffic law he forces the cabbie to break to get from Columbia to Hogan Place. Sonny needs him; he can feel it sizzle in the air and rattle his bones. Like he’s calling out for him to just teleport over and be next to him already. If only. Rafael sits in the back of the taxi, anxious for the entire ride, pressing his thumb into his palm to keep calm. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to be this worried.

The second the cab pulls up, Rafael pays without taking a glance at the fare and scrambles out. He gets through on sheer muscle memory alone and bursts into the eight-person office. Sonny is the only one left, bent over a legal pad and staring at whatever he’s written, hair still neat despite the tension lodged in his shoulders. The second Rafael enters, Sonny looks up, and the relief and pain pours out from those shining blue eyes. He’s too close to tears to Rafael’s liking.

“Raf—”

Rafael steps forward, and they’re wrapped up in each other immediately. Sonny has his arms right around him, the noodle weight tugging on Rafael’s shoulders. The tension lingers in his muscles, right behind his shoulder, over his ribs, through his bicep. It ripples under Rafael’s touch like a pebble to a pond. Each point of contact starts a new shockwave that cannot be contained just yet.

For a moment, Rafael thinks the thin wall keeping the tears away has fallen, that his husband is truly broken and ruined over his performance in court. His nose is clogged and sniffles every few seconds, even though no water has dampened his neck. Rafael despises how heavy his breathing is, but he reins in any verbal responses in order to hold his husband close. Sonny needs his love and attention. Rafael is dedicated to providing that any way that he can.

“I failed,” Sonny murmurs into his shoulder. Rafael nearly misses it with how muffled it sounds. “I failed so hard. All those women who put their hope in me, the DA’s office, the squad. I wasn’t good enough to stop him and now that bastard is gonna walk.” He steps back and sags; even with the few inches he has on Rafael, the droop in his shoulders makes him look shorter than six feet. “I’m not cut out for this.”

“You stop right where you are,” Rafael frowns. “You can beat yourself up for your performance, but I refuse to let you demean yourself like that.” He grips Sonny by his upper arms, squeezing the biceps taut and firm. “You are capable of brilliance. Whatever failures you think there are, they’re not because you’re incompetent.”

Sonny gulps and bows his head. Rafael feels like he can see ten new specks of gray in his dirty blond locks. “But it feels like I’m playing dress-up. What was I thinking, taking this job? I’m a half-baked loaf of bread that wants to be accepted by the baker but will never be enough for a window display.” He nods to his desk, where a draft of a letter sits, ingrained on the legal pad. “I wrote my resignation letter. There’s no way I can do any good here.”

Rafael squeezes him tight again; it’s the only thing he can do. Sonny is swimming, drowning, in his doubt and anxieties, barely able to reach the surface without losing three more feet underwater. The thought of him being so low that he has to write a resignation letter makes him sick. Rafael recognizes the determination and ability—he always did—but it’s sinking from the stronger, more negative emotions.

“Liv gave me some advice.” Sonny sniffs again, and this time, a few wet drops fall on Rafael’s coat. “Told me I’m not a quitter. To get him on the stand. I know I can nail him if I can cross-examine him, but I have to get him there. I have to.” Sonny squeezes him; Rafael pushes him closer, gently cradling the back of his head. “I have to.”

“You can do this.” Rafael turns to his words, his familiar companions, his constants, to provide the ammunition Sonny needs. He can spin words as well as Rafael can: he’s done it before he passed the bar, he did it after, he did it for his new job, and he can do it informally with his husband. The hard part is getting Sonny to see it long enough to do something about it. “I know you can. You worked so hard to get here. You were the one to bring yourself here. Only you could have done this.”

Sonny smiles, sad and watery, the light in his eyes reminiscent of simpler times. Before they were Professor and Counselor, back when Counselor and Detective were their more common titles. “Well. Your suicidal streak helped along the way.”

Rafael breathes out an airy laugh, though dim in amusement, and caresses his cheek. Sonny holds his wrist fondly and kisses the tips of his fingers. The shining watery lines are too obvious when he looks at him head-on. “There you go. Use that. Make your own statement,  _ cariño _ . Take your win back.”

The kiss Sonny shares with him is a silent thank you, a brief reprieve in swirling emotions, a bite for what they can share later when Sonny’s eyes aren’t swimming with legal notes and abandoned strategies. Rafael takes the gesture and holds it close to his heart to cherish as hard as he does Sonny’s upbeat performances of adoration. Sonny presses their foreheads together and lets out a long, deep sigh. “I think I can come up with something.”

“Good.” Rafael nods firmly, and even if it’s hopeless, he can’t help but ask. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“No.” Sonny shakes his head and leans down to kiss the tip of his nose. “I need to do this by myself.”

Rafael frowns, more so at the feeling of helplessness threatening to choke him. “How about some moral support? It’s the least I can do.” He curls his fingers in the hairs at the nape of his neck and hums softly. “I hate seeing that look of defeat on your face.”

Sonny pauses, takes a moment to wander in his eyes for a minute, and then he wipes his cheeks clean of any evidence. His voice is still clenched with anxiety but it’s better than before. “I think I know what you can do.”

* * *

Their first night sharing a bed—just sleeping in the same bed, sex not included—Rafael had almost kicked Sonny out when he called him a koala. “‘cause, y’know, you hug really well and you got a mean grip,” according to Sonny’s argument, which has only doubled-down since then. The accuracy of it was what had made Rafael offended in the first place. And even if he had opportunities to judge the man for his own habits—“do you have to swing your legs like that when you walk? This furniture is nice and I don’t need your giraffe legs ruining anything”—Rafael still disliked being called out for it. No matter how much he may reluctantly and secretly agree with the notion.

But there are times when it doesn’t matter anymore. When he’ll allow the fond title for one night and one night only. When he’s too distracted by Sonny’s hands and body and presence to notice its usage. When he’s either too tired to care or too drunk to relish in how much he loves the title (and the little gifts that expanded the inside joke further, like the koala grip to wrap around his pens or the wedding topper that clung to a giraffe’s neck). But most of all, both in lack of concern and Rafael’s development, when Sonny needs to be held and cherished and honored the way he should be, Rafael will abandon the animosity and disagreements to embrace the title and just hold Sonny in his arms, gangly limbs and all.

And that’s what Sonny needs. Something he’s used to, something that’s normal for them. Rafael would have done it even if it hadn’t been requested. If it can provide some type of relief, he’ll do what he can to accomplish that.

Sonny sits up in bed, scribbling on his legal pad frivolously with silent determination. He had refused to get out of his work clothes to avoid getting tired and falling asleep before he finishes. Rafael sits flush against his back, arms wrapped around his waist, his legs pressed against Sonny’s thighs, while he rests his cheek against his back. The heat of their body contact is searing and familiar; Rafael hopes it’s bringing some type of comfort to his husband. They haven’t spoken since they entered the room.

There’s a shift beneath him, accompanied by a long sigh, and Sonny grunts under his breath. “C’mon, Detective. Get in his head. You’re not this rusty.”

Rafael doesn’t speak, just continues rubbing slow and easy circles into his hips. He has a feeling it’s more of a scolding at his detective intuition than a bashing against himself. Sonny was SVU’s go-to for getting to suspects and witnesses on a personal level and making them open up. It was uncanny how easy it was for him to wiggle in their minds and weave confessions or intel from their mouths without detection. And now it can help him put that bastard on the stand and open him up for a successful, and telling, cross.

Rafael had been adamant from the beginning that Sonny’s sixth sense as a detective and his crucial study of the law would make him dangerous in the courtroom. If he could get perps inside his web and seal them inside, he could win.

“C’mon. He wants power.” Sonny pages through his notes, scanning them for any sign of a breakthrough. He mumbles under his breath while he scans over his scribbled writing; “consensual sex…doesn’t have to…looking for money…” Rafael leans back to grab Sonny’s phone, as a preemptive measure, before he settles back against his husband. “He needs power. So he needs control. So what happens when he doesn’t get it?”

Rafael shuts his eyes and listens to the tune of deep breathing. At least his heart rate isn’t hammering against his rib cage anymore. Although the sounds of his brain working around the case and going over the trial again and again are certainly loud enough to hide it.

“Power, why—for your ego. You’re full of it, why—you hate women. You  _ need _ power. You need…” When he trails off mid-murmur, his breath faltering, Rafael holds out his phone wordlessly, and Sonny takes it. He knows Sonny won with whatever strategy just smacked into him.

Rafael knew he could do it. By the time he knows every inch of his courtrooms, which one has the squeaky chair or the one that is always freezing, ADA Carisi will be a force. If Rafael were a criminal, he would plead guilty to avoid any more wreckage.

“Rollins, grab Monica for me, would ya? I got an idea. I’ll meet you at the Starbucks by your place.” Sonny slides his legs off the bed and looks over at Rafael. His heart clenches at the determination flaring in deep seas of blue, the kind that Rafael always fell in love with. There is a drive in Sonny unlike anything Rafael has ever seen, typically focused on others but beautiful all the same, and it burns beautifully now that it’s reignited. Rafael kisses him softly and mumbles three words under his breath, just a reminder, constantly a phrase that needed to be shared, unrestrained and unrelenting.

Sonny’s smile is real, brimming with relief, caving his dimples, and causing just the slightest crinkle of his eyes. A truly missed sight.

* * *

The trial, although a bit rocky to start, concludes fantastically. Sonny provokes the perp just enough to bruise his ego and get him to testify. The second he sat in front of that microphone, and the second Sonny stood for his cross, Rafael knew it was a win, sweetened by the perp’s clear displeasure of the word “no” and determination to always get what he wants.

Rafael isn’t worried for the jury to come back. But he remembers the pressure of a first case jury and the stress that followed after. The culmination of failing the people he fought for, of failing the laws he swore to uphold, of being too wound up in his own concerns of winning to care for the ones that mattered, he nearly passed out. Not to mention the fact that he was one of the first Latino men in the Sex Crimes Bureau of both Brooklyn and Manhattan, so the pressure of success was doubled to avoid proving bigots right. Just like Sonny has had to fight the ones doubting a cop could be a lawyer.

At the very least, Rafael muses while he waits outside of the bathroom, Sonny has not been alone. Rafael had to leave halfway through the trial, missing what his husband said was a series of objections that looked more like he was pulling at open air, but Rollins had stayed within reach for the entire trial. Rafael already promised to get her something nice as thanks. Maybe a weekend without kid duties.

“Is he eating?” Rollins suddenly asks, leaning against the wall facing the bathroom doors. Sonny has been in there for a good few minutes now, most likely trying to calm himself before he returns to them.

“Bits and pieces,” Rafael sighs. “He’s had more coffee in him than water since opening statements, but I’ve cracked down on it.” He smirks and nods to where Sonny is, recalling the times he was forced away from work to “eat something that isn’t brewed cocoa beans or roasted peanuts, please.” “Consider it payback for all the times he did it for me.”

Rollins simpers, amused despite the dryness. “And he wants  _ me _ to eat more. Fucking knew it.”

Rafael looks at her; they’ve had to become accustomed to one another, friendlier than when they worked together, but he feels an odd swell of sympathy for her inflate in his chest. “How are you holding up? I hear it’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

Rollins’s eyebrows shoot up at the question but settle down to supply an answer. She had been through a lot, with the stress of raising two kids on her own and the loss of her partner weighing on her. As happy as she was for Sonny’s transfer to the DA’s office, she still hadn’t adjusted to him being a non-police coworker. Their routines were completely flipped around and they couldn’t rely on each other as much, straining them for a day or two but resolving just as quickly. They both know it’s something that will adjust with time. Taking out their frustrations on each other won’t help anyone. “It’s been better, but I think I’m going somewhere with therapy.”

Rafael offers a reassuring smile, just a twitch of his lips for comfort. “That’s amazing. I’m glad it’s been helpful for you.”

“Yeah, it’s been a little weird. I mean,” Rollins crosses her arms and follows the shadows on the ceiling, “I grew up with this mindset that therapy was for crazy people and never did any good for people who were sad sometimes. But now, after working at SVU for this long, after six years of sobriety and GA, I don’t think it’s that bad. And for me, it’s been…” Amanda smiles, almost like she’s forgotten who’s with her. “It’s been great. I’m actually learning how to take better care of myself.”

“Who knew all it took was talking to a stranger about your issues. I’m happy for you, Amanda.”

Amanda gives him a bittersweet smile. “My girls need their mom around. I’m all they have. Our squad is all they have. If I’m not in control of my life, how am I supposed to help them grow into better people?”

The bathroom door swings open then, and Sonny steps out, pale and rugged. He looks more tired than he did going in. “God, the jury’s been out for days.”

Rafael and Amanda share a look. “It’s been three hours,” she points out with a deadpan stare.

Sonny just shrugs and moves to stand beside his husband. “It’s all the same to me.”

“What took you so long?” Rafael asks, adjusting the lapels of Sonny’s jacket. “We almost put out an APB for you.”

“Did you throw up?” Amanda chimes in, worry etched on her brow. Rafael can see why—he looks like he’s about to be sick on their shoes.

“No,” Sonny says, unconvincing and looking away to make it more obvious. When neither of them flinch, he lets out a deep breath and drops his shoulders. “Yes.”

Rafael frowns and holds his cheek so he can peck the other side of his face. “ _ Respira, cariño. _ It won’t do you any good if you pass out before the verdict is read.”

“I’m alright, Raf, I promise.” Sonny forces a smile as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. A look of dread makes him more ashen than before. “Scratch that, actually. Jury’s back.”

The verdict is guilty. Rafael watches the tension drain from Sonny and the case drop off his shoulders. Both Amanda and Olivia squeeze his arm and hand, respectively, to hold back the fresh air that has suddenly filtered inside the room. Rafael never had a doubt that Sonny could win, and he just proved it to anyone who thought he wasn’t good enough, whether it be for his queerness or degree or accent or anything that separated him from snobs and close-minded jerks. They don’t see the brilliance in this man—and Rafael is fine with that. It just means there’s more for him to see and less to compete with.

The first person Sonny faces when the jury is dismissed and court is officially adjourned is Monica, the woman who had fought for her story to be heard when it looked like the system was going to fail her. He just smiles, unrestricted and free for what feels like eons, and thanks her for speaking up in the first place and for staying strong throughout the entire process. Olivia congratulates him next, looking like a mother who cannot help but shower her son in joy, and Amanda wraps him in a big hug and a squeeze.

And when Sonny faces him, Rafael pulls him in for a kiss and a sigh. There are times they joke that Sonny will have to feel things twice as much when Rafael can’t seem to see it himself. It was more in the early days of their relationship, before they grew into a single unit and solidified themselves as two people forming one couple. And now, with this new beginning, Rafael is more than ready and happy with carrying the undying faith of Sonny’s capabilities for both of them. With time, Sonny will see it. Until then, and for the years ahead of them, Rafael will support the man who supports him—endlessly, fiercely, lovingly.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, Rafael Barba is a big koala and sent his husband a picture from their wedding where they posed with the wedding topper that was a koala and a giraffe thank you


End file.
